


Sehnsucht

by Jesse



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Call It What It Is, M/M, but now i'm just curled up on the floor, crying over fictional robot men who transform into vehicles, i came to this earth to fight god, it's just sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse/pseuds/Jesse
Summary: There are memories that Megatron wishes he could forget, but still continues to make sure that he remembers.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for what should have been the MegOp zine last year, but the project dissolved and I'm just a depressed schmuck left with the remains of my work. Someone might as well read it.

Tension is thick and emotions are a flash flood in Megatron's chest. Every glance at Optimus had been flicked aside and will fall to the floor or hang like a picture on the wall. Optics that were once full of life are now full of sorrow and pain, and Megatron will never see them bloom. Servos that once rested in his palms are no longer shared, and the mouth that once whispered "I love you" speaks tersely in quiet tones.

What he wouldn't give to have it all back.

In times before war, when he would lay his head to rest, there were no Autobots, no Decepticons. There was only Megatronus and Orion. Slender fingers braced on his chest, vented air hot against his thighs as Orion would sit atop him. Facing towards him. Letting Megatronus hold his curved thighs as he would send them both sailing into oblivion throughout the night. Pleasure and a high that syk could never bring. Peace and rest that sleep could never grant. There was only Megatronus and Orion.

What he wouldn't give to have it again.

The  Nemesis drifts through loose orbit while every past word from Optimus in Megatron’s mind remains nothing but a facade. He knows Optimus’ voice. He knew Orion’s voice. Every catch in his breath cycles, the way his pitch increases when he wants to say more but refrains. It's been that, and not much else. 

But he waits. He bides his time and he waits for it to bring about something new. Space is vast and so are the history and feelings between them. He bides his time and he waits for Optimus to come to him. He knows he will. He knows that he'll be waiting, but he'll wait ten million vorns if he has to. Megatron is patient. Patient and quiet. 

His quarters are bare; what few personal belongings he has are still tucked in the box that he brought them in. Even after all this time, Megatron still doesn't expect to stay on the  Nemesis forever. He finds it preferable to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice and be able to take his things with him. He just hates having to see the box sometimes. Feeling displaced. Feeling unwanted. Not having a home. But when you've destroyed the homes and the lives of untold millions, what little you are granted is a blessing you cherish.

War-scarred fingers scrape his face as he drags his servo from his forehelm to his chin, the sound of metal on metal grating in his audials and making him feel even more on edge than he already is. Megatron listlessly scans along the ceiling, optics idly tracing the faint patterns in the darkened metal tiling, and feeling like he’s going to drown in the silence that surrounds him.

A large servo dips into the box on the floor as he lays on his slab, fingers blindly parting its contents, knowing what he's wanting without having to see. They carefully close around a datapad, pulling it up, pinched between a careful thumb and forefinger. He holds it above his chest, now in both hands, watching the screen flicker to life. Typing in a careful passcode that he's had since the War, watching the screen unlock, and blink into its default menu.

A tap. His inbox opens.

His spark feels tight and cold as the last received message is displayed, opened with "My love". Sent from Orion. But he doesn't read it. Optics averting, he thumbs his way down their messages, all the way to their first. Where they started. 

Cold, formal greetings bequeath brisk messages with sharp words await him in the beginning. They didn’t speak on strictly professional terms, but they had kept everything to strictly political business. Never a second thought. Just relaying back and forth. Megatron skims past several of these, knowing almost all of them by spark at this point, having read them so many times before. He doesn't want to read the ones that speak of the council. Not anymore.

Somewhere along the line, their messages began changing. Nothing sudden or drastic; more like ripples in the water, far from the splash that made them, but always drawing closer as time went by. The first message from Orion where they didn't discuss work. Just casually chatting. It slowly became more of this, and less of business. Diverting their work-related messages to another inbox, neither of them wanting to ruin their thread. Back and forth, back and forth. They talked about whatever they wanted. Favourite sweets. Music they liked. Hopes and dreams that they weren't even really aware they had until they told the other.

His thumb brushes the screen over the message where Orion addressed him as 'Megs' for the first time.

The messages go on and on, almost pulling a blanket over time itself and wrapping Megatron warmly within it. Nothing else exists right now. No  Nemesis , no Earth. Only Megatronus and Orion exist in this room, locked behind his door and locked within a datapad. Message after message, each one growing warmer, more fond as the time spent between them grew to be the best times of their lives. Each message soon became signed with "I love you". Each message was addressed with affectionate terms for the other. Each message held bright pieces of each other that were only meant for themselves to love and hold.

Are they still as bright now?

The messages on the screen begin to shift and blur. Megatron rests the datapad facedown on his chest, over his very spark, holding it there with one hand. Afraid to let it go. Afraid to ever let it go for any reason. His other fingers gently touch at his optics, dipping into warm wells of lubricant lining the edges of the sockets, coating the glass lenses. With every swipe of his digits, more lubricant finds its way out somehow. Gentle rivers spill from the sides of his face, worn and weathered, staining every scar and pooling around every indent. It hurts his spark far more than his pride.

A hand remains pressed to the datapad on his chest, the spark under it aching heavily, threatening to burst and cave at the same time. Pressing his other hand over his optics, the mech drags it down his face, covering his mouth. Muffling the sudden gasp he takes. Fingers curl around the edges of the datapad and around his mouth. Optics close and tears fall like rain. The instinct to curl his massive body into itself are prevailing far more than any other desire, save for the innate need to hold Orion... to hold Optimus in his arms; not to hold the words that he'd spoken so long ago.

They were Conjunx Endurae. 

They **are** Conjunx Endurae.

Amidst the low choking of his fans as he struggles to ex-vent quietly, the buzzing of his personal comm is like a hammer in his processor. He sits up, dizziness whirling loosely over his head, and Megatron has to manually upright himself.

"A moment." 

His voice is hushed, an attempt to not betray the raw emotions leaking from his chassis and penetrating the outside world. Seeping into the space they fly through. Who could ever be trusted to know? Certainly no one in the entire universe, save for Orion. Save for Optimus.

And if fate were a cruel god, it has just shown its face, revealing Optimus Prime himself in front of the screen that Megatron carefully activates. Optics refuse to lock as Optimus averts his gaze to the floor, arms folded across his chest. The Decepticon warlord simply remains frozen where he stands, ten thousand words touching his teeth yet each of them silent as he grinds them between his molars. This is not the time. It will probably never be the time. He swallows all of the words instead, save for one. 

“Optimus.” 

“Megatron.”

The brief moment of silence between them scorches Megatron’s audials like searing fire, and it feels like it lasts for a near eternity.

“I see that your subordinates have escorted you back to your base,” he says after a moment, taking brief note of the Autobot’s somewhat-familiar surroundings.

“They have, yes.”

Again, the silence. Megatron hates it with every fiber of his being, down to the very last synapse. He stares blankly at Optimus, who stares back in return. Neither of them saying anything. Just watching. Megatron can feel his neurodes starting to burn the longer he stares. Feeling torn between wanting to have this be the only thing he sees for the rest of his life, and never wanting to look at Optimus ever again. Unfortunately, neither of those are an option right now.

“I’m sure there’s a reason you called me up here, Optimus,” Megatron sneers a moment later, trying to regain control of the situation that he was previously caught unawares in, “Surely you must know by now that I can have every Decepticon on board tracking the origin of this comm signal.”

“I can tell that you are in your quarters,” Optimus calmly replies back, his blue optics a bit blurred through the video feed but still harsh on Megatron’s spark, “And you have made no movement to indicate that you have alerted anyone to this call.”

“You don’t know that,” Megatron replies hastily, glancing around his quarters, “For all you know, I could very well have—”

“Megatron.”

His own name is more than enough to give him pause, and Megatron slowly closes his mouth as he catches himself staring at Optimus once again. He doesn’t say anything, but does look slightly impatient and annoyed at having been interrupted.

Optimus appears to.. sigh? His upper body begins to relax a little; quite a downgrade from his usual stiff, military-like posture. “I merely wanted to say.. thank you.”

The Decepticon blinks once. Twice. Grateful that his mouth isn’t hanging open because he sure as hell knows that it would have completely ruined his cool demeanor. His optics narrow the more he stares at Optimus, and Megatron shakes his head. “What could you possibly be thanking me for, Optimus?” He hisses, “As far as I know, we don’t operate with formal courtesies between us.”

“No, but my life was just previously in your hands, and yet you made the conscious decision to not extinguish my spark.”

“I was just using you, remember?”

“The fact remains.” Optimus takes a step closer towards the screen, looking around for a moment like he’s trying to keep their communication a secret from the rest of the Autobots. “I was hoping that perhaps.. even after all this time, you—”

“I what, Optimus?” Megatron interrupts him, still trying to be the one in control of the conversation, and failing miserably at it.

“.. I’d hoped that you perhaps still love me.. as I still love you.”

Megatron goes silent once again, this time turning away from the screen, rather abruptly so. Facing the back wall, away from Optimus. Placing a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet, not even being able to count the sheer seconds it took to feel his optics welling up with lubricant again. He hopes that Optimus isn’t able to notice his shaking shoulders.

“So what if I do, Prime?” Megatron’s voice is rough and crumbled, muffled by the hand still covering his mouth, and still not turning around, “It’s not like it means anything anymore.”

“It means something to me, Megatron. It always will.”

Whirling around, Megatron manages to catch barely a glimpse of Optimus before the screen goes black. Connection terminated. Was that all he wanted? What would Optimus do now that he knew?

Megatron gently grips the screen, lightly pressing his forehelm to the surface. Trying to reimagine Optimus having been there. Taking everything he could from that moment. There weren’t going to be very many of them left anymore.

They both know this.

They know it together.


End file.
